


Nutcracker

by minervamoon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, References to The Nutcracker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27852150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minervamoon/pseuds/minervamoon
Summary: Crowley accidentally starts a holiday tradition for himself and his angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Nutcracker

Crowley hadn’t meant to make it a thing they did. He also hadn’t meant to make them a "they" either, but both things had just…happened.

Crowley had been driving by the theatre the first time it happened, accidentally spying Aziraphale walking in. Crowley’s curiosity was piqued about what the angel was getting up to, and he parked the Bentley in a suddenly available parking space. Aziraphale had been dressed to the nines, so Crowley’s clothes changed to match as he got out of the car. He took the stairs briskly, weaving between ambling humans and through the doors, not even glancing at the sign of what was playing. Before the usher could ask for his ticket, Crowley produced it from his breast pocket and snatched a program from the man. 

It wasn’t hard to spot Aziraphale taking his seat; Crowley had gotten very good at spotting the angel in a crowd. Crowley found a seat far enough away as not to be noticed, but close enough he could watch the angel. Only then did he look down at the program. 

_The Nutcracker_ was emblazoned on the front. Crowley blessed under his breath. Ballet? Had Aziraphale actually come to see a ballet, or was he here to do some miracle? Crowley gave a heavy sigh and slumped down in his chair to wait and find out.

Aziraphale had sat through the entire ballet, smiling the whole time. Not a single miracle performed at all that Crowley could tell. Crowley didn’t talk to Aziraphale afterward. He just left and chalked the night up as a bust. 

But one orbit of the Earth around the Sun later and Crowley found himself doing it again. And then the next year, and then the next after that. Crowley began to notice little tells that it was getting close to time. Aziraphale would hum the music while dusting his books. The date of the performance he was going to would be circled on the calendar, things like that. Crowley wasn’t sure if it was the nostalgia of the costumes of the first half or the dancing confections of the second that Aziraphale liked, but he never missed a year.

So when Aziraphale nearly missed the curtain call one year, Crowley stood outside the theater pacing back and forth across the wide landing. Just under the wire, Aziraphale came rushing up the steps. 

“Where were you?” hissed Crowley. He fell into step beside Aziraphale as they headed for the doors.

“Customers,” huffed Aziraphale. “I ended up having to be rather rude to get them to leave. Why I even opened today I’ll never know.”

That year they sat together. 

The next year Crowley picked him up in the Bentley. He had no qualms about telling customers to sod off, but when he arrived he found that Aziraphale hadn’t opened that day. The year after that they had dinner together before the performance.

And that’s how it had been until this year. This year was new. This year Crowley drove the Bentley from South Downs up to London. They had dinner at the Ritz, and then they went to the ballet. Crowley got them a box this year, and Aziraphale looped his arm around Crowley’s, intertwining their fingers. As the first strains of the music started, Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley gave his curls a soft kiss and settled in to watch the show.


End file.
